Page 11 of A Tempting Seduction

“Really?” Fallon leaned forward eagerly. “I keep worrying people will think we're being cheap or antisocial.”

“People who matter won't care about the size of your wedding. They'll care that you're happy.” I meant every word. Fallon and Michael had been through hell to get to this point, and they deserved a celebration that felt right for them.

“See?” Maddie reached across the table and nudged Fallon's shoulder. “I told you Ruby would have the right perspective.”

We spent the next hour planning Fallon's intimate garden wedding while Maddie's stress levels visibly decreased. By the time we parted ways in the parking lot, Maddie had a plan for managing Drake's visit, and Fallon had a list of ideas for her reception.

My duplex felt especially quiet after the warmth and chatter of Maverick's. I kicked off my shoes and padded to the kitchen, the hardwood floors cool under my bare feet. The silence wasn't oppressive exactly, but it reminded me that I lived alone in a way that sometimes felt heavier than others.

I poured myself a glass of wine, a decent Pinot Grigio I'd been saving for no particular reason, and settled onto my couch with a notepad and started a list of things to do for tomorrow. The day had been full and satisfying but tomorrow would bring its own demands.

I needed to check on Little Grandma, maybe bring her some of those oatmeal cookies she loved. Millie Drakos probably could use some company too. Being married to Renzo had helped her overcome her agoraphobia, but I knew she still had days when connecting with people outside her immediate circle felt overwhelming.

Then there was my shift at Java Jolt, laundry, and I needed to return the stack of library books that were way overdue. I tapped my pen against the notepad and bit my lower lip.

Should I?

Or would it be too pushy?

Doesn’t she need pushy?

Should I ask Maddie what to do?

Phoo!

I wrote down a note to text Chloe tomorrow and see if I could drop by. I was a fan of her manga series, and I’d gone over to her apartment twice with Maddie. I’d text and ask if I could bring over a coffee she might like and something from our baked-goods display case. It was my nature to worry about not spending time with the people who were important to me, and the Avery girls fell into that category. All six of them, even the two who lived in California.

I wrote down ‘text Chloe’ on my list. Now it was complete.

My life might be quiet, but it wasn't empty. I had people who counted on me, routines that mattered, small ways of making a difference.

I took a sip of wine, pushing thoughts of Ford Larson firmly to the back of my mind where they belonged. Some dreams were too dangerous to entertain, no matter how appealing they might seem in the soft light of a summer evening.

Chapter Three

I climbed out of my work truck and stood for a moment in the gravel parking lot, letting my eyes trace the familiar lines of our building. Larson Brothers Millwork. The sign we'd commissioned from a local artist had weathered the past seven years better than I'd expected, the carved letters still crisp against the barn-red background.

Pride swelled in my chest as I took in the expanded facility. When Walker and I had first bought this place, it had been little more than a glorified garage with delusions of grandeur. Now the main building stretched nearly three times its original size, with separate areas for rough work, finishing, and storage. The addition we'd completed two years ago housed our office space and a showroom where clients could see examples of our craftsmanship.

Hard to believe it all started with a crazy idea and a business plan I'd written on a laptop in my Air Force barracks.

I'd been twenty-two when I left the service, my pockets heavy with deployment money and my head full of dreams. Most guys my age blew their savings on trucks or motorcycles or weekends in Vegas, which I’d briefly considered. But instead, I'd spent mine on carpentry classes and business courses at the community college. Walker had thought I'd lost my mind and Dad was proud.

“You want to do what?” Walker had asked during one of our rare phone calls. He'd been up in Alaska at the time, working the fishing boats with Jack and making more money than any twenty-three-year-old had a right to.

“Build furniture. Custom millwork. High-end stuff for people who appreciate quality.”

“You know there's easier ways to make a living, right?”

But Walker had come around eventually. When he finally got tired of freezing his rear off in the Bering Sea, he'd shown up in Jasper Creek with a duffel bag full of dirty clothes and a bank account that made my Air Force savings look like pocket change.

“So,” he'd said, standing in the middle of what would become our shop floor. “Show me this business plan of yours.”

The bank had been skeptical at first. Two brothers in their twenties asking for a six-figure loan to start a custom millwork business in a town of barely eight thousand people. But our business plan had been solid, our combined savings substantial, and Walker's charm had worked its usual magic on the female loan officer. I’d made it clear after we were done that under no circumstances could he ever ask her out. He’d actually listened to me, for once.

Seven years later, we were booked solid for the next eleven months with enough specialty projects to keep our current full-time and contract employees busy. Time to think of additional hires.

I bypassed the office entrance and headed for the shop door instead. The familiar whine of the table saw and the rhythmic thrum of the planer told me Ivan had the crew working hard.